The Paranoid Elf Queen Turned Me Into Her Sister

Volume 3 Chapter 9 – Corpse-Rot Flower

There were still some leftovers in the boiler—presumably the silver-haired girl's dinner.

Not particularly lavish: two bowls of grains and a vegetable salad. But it was perfectly suited to their tastes.

Dylin wasn’t sure whether his previous self had been especially fond of vegetable salads, but in any case, the flavor matched his palate surprisingly well.

The silver-haired girl quietly observed them eating at the crude little round wooden table, one arm resting at an angle. She sat there like a finely crafted doll, her eyes appearing vacant by nature—so much so that she seemed almost devoid of life.

“Thank you. Here’s something for the stay.” After dinner, Dylin—knowing it was rude to eat and stay for free—placed a few coins on the table.

“No need.” The silver-haired girl shook her head. “I don’t require it.”

“It’s only right. Please take it.”

She sat upright, saying nothing more.

“You say you have no name, but we need something to call you by, right?”

The silver-haired girl tilted her head, remaining silent.

“How about... Miss Doll?”

Before she could answer, Yimi—sitting across the table—glanced at Dylin with a mildly disgusted look on her expressionless face. “Who would want to be called a doll??”

“Piece.”

“Mm?”

“Call me Piece,” the silver-haired girl enunciated each syllable with a tone devoid of any emotion.

“Miss Piece, then? Got it. I’m Dylin, and she’s Yimi.” It was a strange name, but so was the girl herself—an oddity through and through.

At the very least, Dylin could tell she didn’t care about names. Whatever was convenient was good enough.

After dinner, Dylin took the initiative to wash the dishes, even clearing the ones piled up at the stove.

“Walk straight out the house and turn left. There’s a small stream,” Piece instructed.

“But make sure to wash upstream, not downstream,” she added.

Why not downstream?

Dylin had this question in mind but didn’t ask. He figured it was best to follow local advice since he was an outsider here.

Leaving Yimi inside, he followed Piece’s instructions, walking left out of the cabin until he heard the trickling sound of a stream. Under the moonlight, a silvery current sliced through the dark earth.

By the stream, Dylin bent down and washed the bowls and forks. But was it just his imagination? He felt a strange stench lingering in the air nearby.

It smelled like something rotting.

He remembered how Yimi had reacted negatively to this scent earlier. He hadn’t noticed it then—perhaps because they’d been farther away.

Here by the stream, he was much closer to the source.

Why avoid the downstream?

Frowning, Dylin followed the current down, curiosity compelling him.

As he’d suspected, the foul odor originated downstream. The further he went, the more the air thickened with that unbearable stench—so pungent it felt almost solid.

What was this smell? It felt like it could take shape.

He covered his mouth and nose, repulsed.

Eventually, he arrived at the source: blackish-lavender vines filled with black loryn flowers, fed by the stream’s flow.

They seemed to be the origin of the stench. The roots burrowed deep into the soil—who knew what they were feeding on?

Dylin frowned. He had never seen a flower this ominous—everything from its roots to its leaves exuded dread.

Its sprawling vines nearly choked the waterway and might even pollute downstream.

Looking at the flower, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu—as if he’d seen something like it before.

His temples throbbed as he stared at the blackish-purple vines—was it the stench or something else?

He couldn’t bear it any longer and returned to the cabin.

“You’ve seen the flower.”

As Dylin returned and placed the dishes back on the stove, Piece suddenly spoke. It wasn’t a question—it was a statement.

“Hmm?” Dylin blinked. “What flower?”

“The Corpse-Rot Flower downstream.” Piece replied calmly, glancing at Yimi, who was seated by the window.

“Corpse-Rot Flower?”

“As the name suggests—it sustains itself on corpses,” Piece explained, her tone flat. “I haven’t checked on it in a while. It must have grown a lot over the past few decades.”

“Decades?” Dylin’s gaze shifted toward her.

“Mm.”

“Miss Piece... you’re not human?”

“I never said I was,” she tilted her head slightly.

Yimi, too, turned to stare at Piece, eyes contemplative.

“A flower that feeds on corpses—isn’t that dangerous?”

“You want to cut its roots?”

“Why not?”

“You’re an interesting person.” Piece’s empty eyes settled on Dylin.

“Interesting?”

“The Corpse-Rot Flower doesn’t literally absorb corpses for nutrients, but it does require a pile of corpses to appear—at least as tall as a small mountain. And that’s not the only condition.”

“It’s the tumor of Kaleburn—but most people only see it as a blight, never considering what enabled its growth.”

“So you’re just letting it grow unchecked?” Dylin found Piece’s indifferent detachment difficult to understand.

“There’s no point in resisting it. It fears neither blade nor spell—absorbs Divine Authority and magic alike. No one has managed to make it wither. There is a method to suppress its growth, but humans can’t do it. No race can.”

“What’s the method?”

“Sever the breeding ground of negative emotions,” Piece replied. “Without overwhelming negativity, there would be no grudges to feed it. Without grudges, the flower has no environment to grow.”

“If you can’t do that, it will only keep growing.”

“It sounds like there’s a way, but in truth, it’s a dead end. I’ve never seen a Corpse-Rot Flower stop growing. Its appearance marks the point of no return.”

“Even Divine Authority can’t affect it?” Dylin found it unbelievable.

“Its existence is rational. It’s a malformed creation of the world—a natural consequence of its laws. A world without will solves problems mechanistically, without caring whether that solution destroys humanity.”

“Grievance is the fuel of existence. Don’t underestimate the weight of collective resentment.”

“Power is born of desire. And resentment is a kind of desire,” Piece said. Dylin didn’t fully grasp her words, but they sounded oddly familiar.

“So no one can do anything about it?”

“No one can. And no one needs to. Even if you tried, it’d be pointless. The Corpse-Rot Flower is a symptom—not the disease. Removing it won’t solve the root cause.”

Piece rose and walked to a simple alchemy bench. “Do you know what these potions are made of?”

Only then did Dylin notice the dark, thick colors of the potions on the cabinet—some with a gray-black hue, possibly from overly concentrated ingredients.

“I don’t know alchemy.”

“The base ingredient is the Corpse-Rot Flower’s sap.”

“You can use that stuff in potions?”

“Not just usable—it’s a rare and valuable material.”

“So you settled here to harvest its sap?” If that were true, then she clearly had no desire to see the flower destroyed. That made her words less trustworthy.

“You’ve mistaken cause for effect. That’s just incidental.” Piece turned to face him. “The reason I live here is because I can only live here.”

“Dylin, do you believe in something called ‘destiny’?”

“Destiny?”

“Everyone is born into this world with a destiny.”

“Most people may never know what theirs is. What sets me apart is—I know mine.”

“Miss Piece, can you speak in a language I understand?”

Piece said nothing, staring at him for a long time.

It was late—time for bed.

Elves didn’t need much sleep, but a good rest helped.

A basin of water sat outside. After a quick wash, Dylin opened the door—only to see Yimi in front of the table, removing her dress. Her skin, pale and soft like mutton-fat jade, glistened in the dim light.

She undid her headband, letting pure golden hair fall down her smooth back, hiding her waist and other areas.

Though her petite body had no curves, her innocence only enhanced her charm.

Hearing the door, Yimi instinctively glanced over—Dylin immediately slammed it shut.

“You could’ve warned me!”

“? I was just washing up. Why would I tell you?” Yimi found Dylin overly sensitive. There weren’t any men around—what was the big deal?

Overreacting.

Once Dylin was inside, it was Yimi’s turn to wash up. The crisp sound of water splashing carried clearly to his ears.

“Miss Piece, do you have an extra blanket?” The cabin had only one bedroom and one hall. Naturally, the room was Piece’s.

Letting Yimi share with Piece, Dylin could crash on the floor.

“No,” Piece shook her head.

Dylin looked quietly at the coarse wooden floor.

Fine. Better the floor than getting rained on.

“Dylin, done washing? Come to bed,” Piece said as she stripped off her few remaining clothes, revealing skin as white as snow.

“Um—” Dylin averted his gaze, flustered.

“Hmm? Something wrong?”

“Don’t you think you should... consider something?”

“Consider what?” Piece tilted her head.

“Aren’t you aware there’s a man here??” He couldn’t help but feel disrespected—was he invisible to them?

“...” Piece stared silently, eyes fixed on Dylin—completely unreadable.

“There’s no man here,” she finally said after a long pause—leaving Dylin feeling insulted.

Dylin went silent. He couldn’t tell if she meant it as a jab.

“...Oh.” After Dylin stared at her for a while, Piece seemed to realize something, though her expression and movements didn’t change. “Apologies if I offended you.”

“It’s getting late. You should sleep in your room.”

“But there’s only one bed, isn’t there?”

“It’s fine. The bed is big—fits three people.”

“That’s not the issue here!”

Just then, Yimi returned—hair damp, wrapped in a towel—expressionless as ever.

She had no clothes on underneath, the towel her only cover. With no bath towels in the cabin, her situation was... vividly imaginable.

These two really didn’t see him as a man, did they??

“Not coming to bed?” Yimi asked, glancing at him.

“...You two go ahead. I’ll sleep out here.”

Acting so nonchalant—clearly he was wary.

Yimi never considered the possibility that Dylin cared about gender. To her, his body was just an illusion created by Teresa. The only reason he wouldn’t share a bed was probably fear of a midnight backstab.

“The living room has no windows. It'll get cold,” Piece warned. She didn’t care where Dylin slept—on the floor, on the bed, next to her—made no difference to her.

“Got it.” Dylin took off his coat and used it as a blanket, lying down fully clothed.

“Oh, and in a few days, this place is going to get lively.”

“Lively?” Dylin didn’t understand.

“Judging by the size of the flower—‘that’ should be arriving soon.” With that cryptic remark, Piece went back into the room.

“‘That’ is arriving soon?” What the hell was that?

Weird woman.

Dylin shook his head.

The Empire was already weird enough. Now there was this bizarre girl living on the outskirts of Kanz.

She had no sense of propriety—didn’t even have a name.

Yet somehow, Dylin didn’t feel like she was lying. It was as if a trustworthy voice in his heart told him so.

Maybe, like Yimi, he found this girl... oddly comforting?

Dylin couldn’t explain it.